


Diet Mountain Dew

by scrapbullet



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Jedi!Charles, M/M, Sith!Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dex’s Diner is the pinnacle of fine dining; or so Charles has been told.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diet Mountain Dew

**Author's Note:**

> Follows on from [Lonely Hearts Club](http://archiveofourown.org/works/385483).

Dex’s Diner is the pinnacle of fine dining; or so Charles has been told. In truth it’s really not much to look at, despite the appetising odours wafting outward from the kitchen area, but Jedi have little by way of allowance; a scant few creds lining the pockets of his pilfered civilian clothing. Slouched down in a booth with his padawan braid tucked beneath a cap he feels very much out of sorts – like a Mon Calamari out of water.

“When you said you were taking me out for a meal I didn’t think you’d be so... _adventurous_ ,” Erik murmurs wryly, sliding into the booth opposite Charles. His fingers catch at the ratty wool gloves Charles wears, lips twisting, his Force presence pulsing with amusement.

Charles coughs and pulls his hand away. “Yes, well. I thought it best we be as inconspicuous as possible.”

A hum, and Erik pilfers a menu from a neighbouring table. He looks good; clean and strong and handsome despite the prominent lightsaber burn on his jaw. Red raw and faintly glossy from bacta gel it makes Charles’ face pinch in concern – such wounds are commonplace in the Temple, but as far as he is aware Erik, now that he has departed, has no willing partner to spar with.

Heat, inviting yet tainted faintly with the Dark Side, suffuses the bond. Charles flushes, face hot.

“Next time I’m taking you out to a proper restaurant.” 

Erik doesn’t even look up.

“What can I get ya, boys?” FLO asks with a flourish. For a service droid she’s in remarkable shape, the gentle thrum of her repulsor stabilizers lending an almost living warmth to what is little more than metal, motherboard and data chip.

Erik barely spares her glance, the tips of his fingers flexing as he toys with the Force, plucking at the buttons of Charles’ shirt. Such playfulness in public is enough for Charles to stutter, caught entirely unawares, so that when FLO expels acrid smoke in what might possibly be a frustrated sigh he tips his head backwards and grits his teeth.

“Erik, _darling_ , would you be so kind as to order for us?”

“I don’t know,” Erik utters. “It all looks so unappetizing. Tubers? Honestly Charles, to think you’d deign to invite me to such an establishment, and further more-”

 _“Snob,”_ Charles hisses, kicking Erik under the table.

“- do you think she has a vibrator attachment? Perhaps I should ask her.” 

Inclining his head to the victim – FLO, who appears utterly scandalised, puffing smoke out of her repulsor’s and yammering at the indignity of it all – Erik merely smiles; the smile that is frankly frightening, all teeth and vicious glee, stoking the flames with a flippant push via the Force that sends FLO skidding away, screeching for Dex at the top of her mechanical lungs.

Charles draws in a breath, and releases.

Erik bats his lashes.

“I hate you,” Charles scowls, and though he tries his very best to let go of his anger and irritation, it’s rather difficult to do so when his secret Sith paramour is sliding a foot up his inner thigh.

Kriffing bastard.

“Now now Charles,” and as Erik throws the menu onto the table the four armed Besalisk cook himself comes waddling through from the kitchens, brandishing a ladle in his meaty hands. “Hate is of the Dark Side.”


End file.
